Shadowheart

She clung to him, his despair and insanity feeding her fear—her nails peeled off his skin and she bit into his flesh, savouring the blood—it didn't matter that shadows lingered around them or that his girlfriend, a pureblood waxen doll with silken limbs, waited for him outside—she was a dirty rag doll he had rescued from the labour camp and every scream from her mouth was sin.